Message-ID: <29474asstr$985270202@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: X-Original-Path: not-for-mail From: "MARK MERSEREAU" X-MimeOLE: Produced By Microsoft MimeOLE V4.72.3110.3 X-Original-Message-ID: NNTP-Posting-Date: Tue, 20 Mar 2001 16:35:40 GMT Subject: {ASSM} { ASSM } "Counterfeiters" (bd sm nc oral toys FM+ FF Mdom Fdom voy cheat) (Corrected format) X-Original-Subject: { ASSM } NEW "Counterfeiters" (bd sm nc oral toys FM+ FF Mdom Fdom voy cheat) Date: Thu, 22 Mar 2001 09:10:02 -0500 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: assm-admin The usual disclaimers: Strictly adult material. All characters are fictional. No redistribution without attribution to the above author. No commercial use whatsoever of this story. The Counterfeiters CHAPTER ONE: Party Crashers It was a clear, calm night, welcome after the storms we'd had almost every day over the last week. The season was Spring, and I was standing on the front porch of a rented old antebellum Florida mansion and gazing up at the sky. Sirius was bright as usual, but nearly setting. I was searching for the Southern Cross. I ought to have Sumner buy a telescope. Mount it on the lawn. I finally gave up. Perhaps it was too far south to see, although Florida is flat enough to see nearly to the horizon without natural obstructions. By twenty-one, oh, oh, it'll probably be under water. The last time I saw the Cross was when Sumner and I were on a cruise ship full of suckers. Of course we posed as complete strangers, that was part of our scam. It was still early evening but I was thinking of what to do later. I'm plagued by insomnia; unlike Renee, who's a voracious reader, I seldom touch a book. A telescope would serve as a diversion, especially following our previous months of drudgery. I'm not a person who enjoys work; I prefer play, of any sort. My first preference in play is women. I have the European taste in that respect, although I found the availability of willing and attractive girls here quite surprising. You Americans may be retarded, but you are learning. Gambling, as well. Monte Carlo, assuming I'm `in the chips'. You've noticed my use of slang. I'm a trifle smug about my knowledge of American idioms; I was excellent at absorbing languages, even though I never stayed in school long enough for my teachers to give me more than the basics in my three foreign tongues: English, German, and Spanish. That grounding was all I needed to pick up the rest, usually while immersed in the country. I absorbed it like a sponge. I'm writing of my youth you understand, my teenage days. I've lost most of that ability now. I can attest to the saying that one must learn languages when young. The earlier the better. Because of all the travelling I've done and still do out of necessity, I keep up well enough in those tongues that I know. In Spain I spent a year in Torremolinos on the Costa del Sol. A sleepy and warm tiny city, pleasant for the vacationing Europeans, but too quiet for me. In Germany I spent a few months in Hamburg-terrible, industrial city; I detested it. Even the girls of the Reeperbahn seemed more robotic than female. In the States I spent most of my time in Los Angeles. Not my favorite city, but an improvement over Hamburg. In Bangkok most of the natives spoke my native tongue, although when I was back recently, some school children spoke to me in English, assuming I was American. I didn't know whether to be insulted or flattered. I love the Thai's; a very easy-going people. Sex is a daily necessity there, as much as food. As for the city, its enormous sprawl makes the gridlocks of London or New York seem trivial. But ideal if one wants to become lost, for any reason. Motor cycling. Alpine skiing. A little hang-gliding. Unfortunately, my tastes amount to ones suited to the heir of a wealthy business man. Which I am not. To compensate, my life between pleasures is devoted to making money without the drudgery of working for it. The last six months, I regret to say, amount to a tedious exception. I probably worked harder then than at any prior period in my thirty-seven years on this planet. As I said, I was standing on the veranda, thinking of nothing in particular but the constellations, when Jose appeared, a bit breathless. Jose is a cool young Mexican, nineteen I believe, with dark eyes, black hair, and a mustache that I wish he would shave off. It makes him look a bit like Pancho Villa. Not that I dislike his looks for that, but I prefer none of my compatriots in crime to resemble bandits. Why look like one's occupation? It tends to give one's potential nemeses ideas that I'd prefer they not acquire gratuitously. "Three girls, Senor Marc! The guards caught them in the basement. They came in through the hatch. Someone forgot to lock it after the last load of materials." I'd insisted that none of our people mentioned paper, or duplication, or any of the paraphernalia that might induce suspicion, so `materials' is a catchall phrase we used. If more precise descriptions were necessary, we used simple euphemisms, like `toilet paper', `black paint', and so on. "Merde!," I responded. "Jose, this we simply don't need. Where were they in the basement? Any chance they looked in the library?," `library' being our term for the location of the copiers. "I don't know. Papa caught them in the workshop." "Quelle dommage!" The library was adjacent to the workshop. Far too close. "I'll see them. Where are they now?" "Still there. I didn't want them to see any of the house." "Good. Who's guarding them?" "Sumner and Renee. Papa returned to the gate after they came down to take over." "O.K. The girls probably have a car parked nearby. You come back inside with me and get their keys. Move it as far away from here as possible. Find an area to park it where it won't be noticed. I don't mean isolated; I mean crowded with autos." Sensibly, Sumner and Renee had brought chairs downstairs, and all five of them were seated when we arrived at the base of the stairwell. I grabbed Jose's arm to hold him in the doorway before entering the shop, which we used chiefly for metalworking. My compatriot Sumner constructed an assembly line there which we employed to do much of the transferring. Besides the metal, we maintained a large amount of seasoned lumber. That we employ for mounting the metal which supports the line as well as for crude shelving, to hold both raw materials and the final, metal-boxed product, stamped DM, FF, or SM. I saw three attractive young women. One was blonde, with long straight hair fastened into a pony tail. Nice figure, large breasts. Dee cups, probably.. A redhead with a bob. In Paris in the Marais area I might take her for a lesbian, but here one never knows. Slender, but not excessively so. She resembled a typical Parisienne soubrette. I find them every bit as sexually attractive as Bardot types. Small breasts, of uncertain shapes because of her bra. Bee cups I guessed. Definitely fuckable. The third had jet black hair, to her shoulders. Petite, but a proportionately curvaceous figure. Cee cups probably. All three, desirable. Any one of them would turn a Frenchman's head. What a bonanza! Ah--mon coeur--pas trop vite! The redhead-Arlene-responded to most of my questions. Of the three, she seemed the most articulate. The other two were too scared to say much. I don't recall if Manuel was carrying my revolver, but if they saw it, I couldn't blame them for being frightened. "We didn't mean anything like robbery!," she protested. "It's just that this place looks so mysterious, with the big fence and the guard at the gate. Your lights were all on, and we heard music. We decided to crash your party." She smiled, perhaps believing that would influence me favorably toward them. If she knew me, or if she could read the thought germinating but still vague in my mind, she would not have bothered. "I felt like dancing," Renee said; "It was the radio you heard. I had it on loud." "Dancing with whom?," I asked. "Your brother, who else? Bruce needs a few lessons." Dancing, merde. She was fucking him. My brother is sixteen, and is `quite a hunk' as you Americans say. No doubt she had the music playing so as to drown out the sounds of their frolic. Renee can be rather loud. Bruce isn't exactly Tutankhamen, either. I heard him only once in the throes of sexual enjoyment, but from it I knew the noisy radio could certainly have been for him as much as for her. That happened to be a half-year ago, shortly after we arrived in Fort Lauderdale. I was napping in the hotel suite I'd taken when a loud cry from Bruce in the adjoining room awoke me. Renee wasn't in our room. I rose, went to the door that connected our room with Bruce's, and quietly opened it. Renee had her sweater off. She seldom wears a brassiere (silly English term!), and she was bare to the waist, displaying her well-formed breasts for him. He was seated on the bed and she was on her knees, bestowing on him a gamahuche. She did it with such panache that I immediately developed an erection myself. Being a betting man, I would have wagered a thousand francs that the blowjob she was giving Bruce was the best he'd ever had. It had to be better than any his fifteen year old girl friend in the gymnasium ever gave him. Renee on her knees dispenses ecstasy. Wishing I had a camera, I continued to watch. I was curious to see if she'd continue, and finish pleasuring him via the Trumpet of Toulouse, or if she'd climb on top of him. She adores riding on young cock, so it was a difficult call. I estimated the odds at about fifty-five to forty-five, favoring the bj. She read my mind, nodding repeatedly at my judgement, with the consequence that my brother could have awakened anyone napping on this floor of the hotel. Even so, between his cries I could hear her gulps. I softly closed the door. I never interfere with other people's sex lives. `It's their business' is my attitude. I suspect the reason that Renee stays with me and Sumner must be partly because I let her fuck whoever she wants. As far as STD's go, I don't worry. She's a lot more careful about whose bones she jumps than I am. You see how well I know your slang?! "I'm not sure whom I should call," I told the girls; "the cops or your parents." I intended neither, of course, but I was curious to hear their reactions. "Oh my god!," the blonde (her name was Sheila) exclaimed, "Don't do that! You must know we weren't going to take anything. I mean, we didn't bring anything to carry loot, not even our purses." The others similarly protested. The petite girl, Avis, added, "My folks would kill me if they knew I'd been caught doing something stupid like this. It's something our boyfriends might do, but not us. As Arlene told you, we were sure you were partying. We just wanted to get in on it. And, maybe get a little free booze. Or weed." "Won't your boyfriends be annoyed at your crashing a party without them?" "Oh, they're back in Boston," the blonde said. "We sure aren't going tell them!" "How long is your vacation?," I asked. Foolishly, they were giving me the information I needed to carry out the plan whose pieces I was now fitting together in myhead. "Two weeks," Arlene said. "Or rather, it was when we got in at noon today. Only thirteen days now. We have to get some swimming in. I heard that this was your first nice day in a week." I went upstairs to find Jose and my brother. And to get my revolver if Jose's father wasn't carrying it. It was in the bedside cabinet drawer. I checked it to be sure I hadn't left any bullets in it, especially in the barrel. I handed the weapon to Jose. "Just scare them with this. No threats, just let them see it." "I want them blindfolded, all three, and gagged. Use packing rope to tie their hands behind them. No tape. It's too hard to remove. But do a thorough job; I don't want any of them to get loose, or to yell. And, be careful gagging them. Don't risk choking them. Just be sure they can't work the gags out." "Hey boss," Jose protested. "Why gag them? Nobody's gonna hear them. The grounds are too big. And the shrubbery must cut off the sound even more." "Gag them," I insisted. "Bring them up here and tie them well away from each other. Tie their feet, too." I felt so stimulated by my idea that I almost in jest called him `Pancho', but I'm sure that would have, as you say, pissed him. Kids tend to have thin skins. "Jesus, Marc!," my brother asked; "How come you want them tied up? What are we going to do with them?" "They passed our library to get to the shop. I can't imagine them being not interested in everything that was in the library rather than where we found them. I assume they must have gone in. So, we can't let them go. Not before we pack up and ship the merchandise. They're on vacation and won't be missed for two weeks. We have that much time." "We're keeping them tied up for two weeks?!" "Oh, Bruce," I laughed. "Don't be so naive. What do you think we're going to do with them?! "Anyway, they won't be tied up the entire time. At least not tied up the way you and Jose are going to tie them up a few minutes from now. Even though that's temporary, it doesn't mean I'll tolerate a sloppy job." The three of us went downstairs. While Bruce and Jose were tying up the girls, who protested with complaints like "Why are you tying us up?" and similar queries, I took Sumner into the family room, which was just down the hall, past a bathroom on the other side of the basement. Except for the bare beams overhead to which fluorescent lights were fixed, it was well finished, with oak panelling, wall to wall carpeting, a sofa, two lamp tables, and three armchairs. "I'm going into town to buy some things, Sumner. While I'm gone, I want you to fashion some wooden structures for me. Locate them in here." Sumner is a former small time con artist and card shark, but he has an innate talent for building things. In appearance, he looks deceptively innocent, with an almost sleepy look on his slightly pudgy face. A full head of dirty blonde hair. He's going on forty, a bit older than me. He was a semi-pro soccer player once and, although he's put on weight since then, he's still strong and agile for his size, which is about a hundred eighty-five centimetres. About my size but even though I was pretty athletic when younger and even had dreams of pro tennis, he's as active as I even though he outweighs me by twenty kilos. I don't ever gamble with him, as he knows many more ways to cheat than I. He's constantly got a smile on his face, and it's seldom that anything fazes him. A cool customer. Not that handsome; but women love him. For some reason he latched onto me. He amuses me, so we've been scamming together for years. "Sure, Marc. What kind of structures?" Sumner handed me his pad and pencil. I sketched for him what I wanted and he broke out into that smile full of white teeth that sort of makes me want to laugh with him even if nothing amusing has been uttered. "Mmm!," he said. "We should have much fun, mon ami!" He knitted his brows comically, leafing through the five sketches. But, won't the flics search for the girls?" "I doubt it, Sum. They are staying in a motel, and they already paid with a credit card. If they disappear, the motel management may not care, supposing they're partying somewhere. But the management won't discover even that. If they have reason to believe that the girls are sleeping there each night, no one is going to even guess that they're missing. "Right now, Jose is getting everything from their rental car, including their motel keys. I'll have Renee go there tonight to mess up their room. If she's seen, it will be after dark, and I doubt that anyone will know she isn't one of the room's occupants. "Their intrusion compresses our time frame but not seriously; I allowed slack for an emergency anyway. Although I certainly didn't forsee one like this. "Anyhow, Sum, having them here should make our next two weeks much more interesting than the last months have been." "How long do you think we have before they will be missed?" I told him. Then I left. I headed for the sleaziest barrio in Little Havana. It took me most of the evening, but the store I found stayed open until the bars closed, so I was able to acquire most of the items on my mental shopping list. I'm a devotee of bondage, and one reason Renee and I stay together is her passion for it. Her taste runs to both submission and dominance, which I find a bit peculiar but, de gustibus non est disputandum. Not having any liking for submission myself, I don't mind her enjoying a male who does. Still, it isn't that often that she encounters one. More frequently, she brings a female to our apartment, which is certainly preferable to me. If the newcomer has the appetite for a menage a trois, I participate with the two of them. Once, I recall, we encountered lesbians enjoying public sex in a Marche de Puce, the one that is just south of the Faubourg Sainte Antoine, north of the Gare de Lyon. They were occupying a little knoll of grass that abuts a wall. Both were dressed, more or less, but the blonde who was receiving her partner's attention was prone and had her blouse wide open. She was braless (and briefless), and the brunette was bent over her, with a hand up the skirt, her mouth on a teat. Renee waited until they noticed us. Both smiled, saucily. I thought they each looked of an age to attend the Sorbonne, eighteen or so. Two backpacks beside them practically confirmed my guess. Renee approached and made her proposal. The brunette was a bit hostile, but the blonde gave Renee her telephone number. Some days later I was in our apartment preparing dinner, when the two of them appeared. I set the table for three, including one each of a Bordeaux red and a white. That evening our bed became a rope-embellished playground for the three of us. The blonde was, to my good fortune, a `Bi' in your parlance. When Renee finds a true lesbian, at least in my experience, the girl may tolerate sex with me, but without relish. I suppose her tolerance stems from a wish to satisfy Renee's taste for dominance and her own wish to be submissive and obedient to her Mistress. It never seems to be due to any attraction she has for me. As I left the B&D store, carrying two full bags, I encountered a street vendor of flowers. She was a latina of about sixteen, too young to be out at this hour. She was packing up her things for the night. I noticed that she still had several unsold bouquets. Unlike Paris, most American cities, including Miami, don't have flower shops on every corner (so to speak). I missed not being able to bring flowers for Renee as I was accustomed to in France, so I bought the girl's entire stock, including some beautiful blue, pink, and yellow lisianthi. I also got some helichrysi, of the strawflower variety, in red, orange, and white. They aren't a favorite of Renee's but they do last. I walked to my car, occasionally inhaling their fragrance. I carefully laid them in a corner of the trunk, where they wouldn't unroll from the paper and plastic the girl had wrapped about their stems. I packed the B&D bags tightly in beside them. It's a dull drive back, north on the Turnpike, but I had a lot to think about. Not just the girls, who would be our after-hours entertainment, but keeping to the new schedule in our production. Also, security. I had to find out how our three intruders had gotten in. Our fence had to be made secure. Another intrusion would more than likely be impossible to handle. As one of your countrymen put it to me, "One can juggle only so many balls without losing one's own." Another possible area I had uncertainty about was the dependability of the graphics engineer whom I'd bribed to aid us in our setup. Larry Phelps seemed to have no qualms about illegalities. I had paid him well, but one can never be sure of sealed lips. I'd observed his sly glances at Renee's bra-less bosom through her outer garments. It occurred to me that I might further ensure his silence by including him in at least one evening that my group would spend playing with our new toys. Involve him in further illegalities. When I arrived it was after midnight. I was a little tired from the driving, but stimulated by my successful shopping spree and the anticipation of trying out my purchases on the college girls. In any case, even when tired, I don't sleep a lot, so I felt no desire to retire. Were I a businessman, I suppose I'd be classified as type AA personality. They were tied up in the living room. Sheila, the blonde, must have been exhausted, since she was sound asleep on the floor, in what had to be an extremely uncomfortable position. The other two were also on the carpet, and were similarly bound, all three being hog-tied with their wrists and ankles together behind their backs. They had been forced to lie on their sides to get any rest but even so, having their wrists bound to their ankles forced their shoulders and legs back and held their torsos and spines in an unnatural, backward arc that must have been uncomfortable to a degree approaching pain. I passed them and filled a vase at the kitchen faucet and plunked the flowers in the vase. I carried it back into the living room and set the flowers on the mantel over the fireplace. These antebellum homes have fireplaces in every room. Of course, fireplaces are generally all that's necessary in Florida. I'm not sure that I've ever encountered a centrally heated home there. The redhead Arlene and the brunette Avis were awake. They had been staring at me since I entered. They were muted by the cloth that had probably been torn from an old bedsheet and which was wrapped multiple times about their heads, covering their mouths. I couldn't tell then, but later found out that each also had a cloth stuffed in her mouth behind the wrapping. I saw no blindfold and wondered why Jose had disobeyed me about it. I mentally shrugged, since that had been to restrict their knowlege of the house to the basement which they'd already seen, and it seemed unlikely they could do anything by knowing the arrangement of the living room. Only in the event that a girl got loose could it benefit them. Possibly tears had something to do with his blindfold omission. Avis's eyes were red, and her cheeks were smudged as if she'd been crying. The redhead began to make sounds that of course were unintelligible, but sounded frantic, and she began nodding as if she were looking down at her feet, which naturally she couldn't, since they were bound behind her hips. Then the brunette took up the same perculiar motions, sounds included. The noise, although muffled, woke up Sheila, who saw me and looked over at the others. She, like Avis, looked as though she'd been crying. But I wasn't concerned with that. Then it hit me. I quickly knelt beside the redhead. It took some work to undo the knot in the cloth, but I finally got it loose and unwrapped it. She immediately spit the cloth from her mouth. "Jesus!," she exclaimed. "My bladder is ready to burst. If you don't want your rug wet, you'd better let me use a toilet!" Speaking of pissing, I was annoyed, especially with Renee. She should have thought of the plight the three would be in. Why no one had stayed at least to guard the girls defied explanation. I suppose no one wanted to sleep in a chair. I worked at the knot Jose or my brother had used on her, but it was too tight and too intricate to get undone quickly, At a run I went to the kitchen for a knife, and I cut the cords that held her ankles. I helped her up and went with her at her pace, a trot, to the bathroom off the kitchen. As soon as we entered, I switched on the light, flipped the toilet lid up, and knelt before her. I suppose she was desperate, as she made no protest as I undid her jeans and pulled them, along with her panties, straight down her legs. A second later she was pissing noisily and emitting a sigh of relief. "Sheila and Avis must have to go pretty badly, too," she said, as the sounds diminished. Would you wipe me? Please?" I was a bit surprised at her aplomb, but it's what a Parisienne would have asked under the circumstances, and I complied. She gave a slight shiver, but said nothing. "I'll take care of your dark-haired friend next," I said. "Avis." "Oh, yes, Avis, le petit oiseau, the little bird. It's suitable." "Oh, please, never mind impressing me, please help her." "You stay right here," I told her. I went through a similar procedure with the other two young women, although they were considerably more embarrassed than Arlene, starting with the moment I exposed their bottoms and until I'd wiped them dry. By this time it was close to one o'clock, but I was concerned that all three of my prisoners could now walk or, for that matter, run. I'd have no trouble with just one, but if it came into their heads to all run in a different direction, I would be in trouble. True, their hands were still bound, but one can open a door with one's hands tied behind one's back quite easily. As for my revolver, a sure way of keeping them in line, I presumed Jose still had it, and he was up in his bedroom. The old mansion was thick-walled and high ceilinged, and I had no hope of wakening him or any of the others by yelling from where I was. Even if I stood at the bottom of the stairs and shouted, I had my doubts. I recalled the two bags of merchandise. They were stuffed with BD&SM paraphernalia, including six pairs of handcuffs. "Stay in here," I ordered, and I closed the bathroom door behind me. They had probably seen my gun in Jose's hand and would be hesitant to attempt an escape unless they were sure that I, too, didn't have one. In any case, I ran, checked to be certain I had the right bag, and I returned with it to the bathroom. I gave some thought to how I should use the handcuffs. I felt full of energy and I was stimulated by the proximity and availability of the three attractive girls. I certainly wasn't ready to retire. I could handcuff two of the girls together and enjoy the third. I could fuck them in rotation that way; at least until I tired. Or until dawn came, when my group would descend and interrupt the festivities. Looking at them, however, I changed my mind. All three appeared exhausted. I had no desire to fuck a girl who fell asleep beneath me. I helped them up the main stairway, the redhead in the middle, her left ankle handcuffed to the blonde's right ankle and her right to Avis's left. It was a slow and awkward climb, but with me behind to prevent a fall, they got up. Renee was nowhere to be seen, and our bed hadn't been slept in. No wonder she forgot the girls, she's getting fucked. I give her plenty, but she prefers young cock. Somewhat exasperated, I was tempted to march down the hall and barge into each room, but that seemed a little pointless. I no longer needed her help with the girls. My intrusion would ameliorate my annoyance, but whoever she was with wouldn't appreciate my entering. Moreover, I was assuming the room she was in had an unlocked door. Not a likely prospect. I turned my attention to the three girls. I undid each one's cuffs from her ankles long enough to help her move her bound hands under her legs and hips until she had them in front of her. When I'd finished with all three, I had them sit together on my carpet. I linked Arlene's ankle to a leg of my bed. Choosing different legs for Avis and Sheila, I linked their's similarly. "Lie down on my carpet," I told them. I gathered pillows and light blankets from my cupboard and arranged them so each girl had a pillow beneath her head and enough of the blanket to stay warm for sleeping. Within ten minutes all three of them were off in slumberland. Considering their state of fatigue, I didn't think they would awaken soon, so I took a shower, threw on a bathrobe, and went downstairs. My goal was the basement family room. I was anxious to see the results, if any, of Sumner's carpentry. On the way, I encountered Manuel, Jose's `Papa'. He was my guard, and it was he who had discovered the girls in the basement. An older version of his son, he's slender, with black hair and moustache and, unlike the old cinematic slothful and sleepy versions of Mexicans, he's energetic and trustworthy. An illegal here, his chief occupation (before this temporary one his son had persuaded him to take) is housebreaking. He provided me contact with the fishing trawler we planned to use to haul our finished merchandise, concealing it beneath the ice in a catch bin. "I saw the devices Senor Sumner made for the girls, Senor Marc," he said. "Most impressive. I understand well I am just guard here, but I thought . . . I did find the girls. Would, um . . .Will I be so fortunate as to share them with you?" I smiled. "Of course Manuel. The girls aren't my property. I intend all of us to enjoy them." "I am most grateful! I have admit to you something Senor Marc, that I have felt over these months. Your Renee looks muy sabroso-I forget the English for it-more to me each day we are here. I know you say she can do as she wishes, but still . . . Well, you understand, we Latinos have trouble even in this modern time with sharing our mujer with another man. You French are much a mystery to us." I smiled. "As you are to me, Manuel. Considering a woman as property not to be shared is foreign to us." I continued down the stairs. As I was about to pass the library, I remembered that I wanted to borrow a pair of wire cutters, and I filched a pair that lay on the examination table. I continued into the family room. It hadn't been necessary to describe for Sumner the applications I had in mind. He had no difficulty deducing what I wanted them for. There was a simple sawhorse from two by fours; its flat top stood at a height a little below my hips; I visualized the blonde bent over with her belly on it and her wrists and ankles bound to its four legs. Although I hadn't specified them in my sketches, Sumner had thought to insert eyebolts in the side of each leg near the floor to provide anchors for ropes or handcuffs. The two racks were a bit more complex, but still simple enough so their assembly couldn't have taken him very long. The H frame of each was, like the sawhorse, of wooden two by fours; but the four upright supports for each were of five centimeter OD pipe. The four supports were held by a flange at each base to a sheet of four by eight foot (U.S.) half inch plywood. A bit of `overkill' I thought.. But, Sumner had avoided the necessity of sawing by using the sheets as we'd received them. The H was capable of flipping forward or back over a horizontal pipe to which the cross beam of the H was fastened. He had also attached a rudimentary brake that allowed the H be be clamped rigid in any position, from upright to horizontal or even completelyinverted. Sumner had thoughtfully provided eyebolts near the tops and bottoms of the H uprights to which we could fasten handcuffs or ropes. While roaming the BD&SM store earlier that evening, I searched for cuffs or bracelets that would be suitable for binding wrists and ankles to the wooden devices he was making. For that, I purchased eight leather handcuffs to which snaphooks were riveted. Looking at Sumner's handiwork, I was satisfied that I could attach the handcuffs to the H frames without difficulty. I was pleased with the simplicity and applicability of Sumner's handiwork. I felt the stirrings of excitement, envisioning the redhead mounted in one frame, Avis in the other, both naked and spreadeagled. I stepped onto one of the wooden bases to determine the height of the crossbar. It would be about waist-high for the two taller girls, Sheila and Arlene. It seemed a bit high for the brunette. However, whether her feet were on the wood or she was suspended in the air by her wrists and ankles was immaterial to me. In either case, her cunt would be readily accessible from where I stood and at a height perfect for penetration. I looked at the rear wall. There were six widely-spaced eyebolts mounted in a horizontal row near the ceiling, with matching ones near the floor. I noticed, even though I hadn't thought of or included it in my sketches, that he had fastened six similarly-spaced eyebolts into the overhead beams. Depend on my old friend to read my mind. Three spreader bars lay on a lamp table. I smiled as I examined them. He must have finished the sawhorse and frames earlier than he'd anticipated, because the spreader bars looked like he'd spent more time on them than on the larger structures. He had made them of wooden dowelling and had sanded them to eliminate all sharp edges, after which he had even varnished them. Close to each end of each bar were attached D rings to hold manacles. I removed from a bag six of the eighteen wrist/ankle cuffs that I'd bought. They were made of velvet-lined leather, with a cliphook riveted to each. Using the cliphooks, I attached them to the spreader bars, preparing the latter for service. I deposited the remaining cuffs as well as several whips and leather straps on the lamp table. I started upstairs. I didn't feel drowsy, but I decided to try to get some sleep. The girls needed theirs, and I didn't want to disturb them until they were rested. Halfway up the stairs, it occurred to me to look into the library. I usually inspected it as soon as production ended each evening, but tonight I'd forgotten. Three half-filled metal cube-shaped cans had been left on top of the belt, when someone had apparently set them down on the first convenient level surface the moment the line stopped. Their lids were only loosely laid on. If the girls had entered the library, at least one of them must have been curious enough to look inside the cans. Two were empty, but the third was half full of Deutchmarks. That troubled me, and I wondered how I could determine if the girls had discovered that can's contents. Even if we encountered no problems in completing our work here and in delivering the merchandise, the girls' knowledge-if bruited publicly-of what we'd produced here would jeopardize our ability to market it. I suddenly remembered the motel. Feeling foolish, I raced up the two flights of stairs. I should have found Renee and mentioned it to her before leaving for Miami. A man observed entering the motel at this hour of the night would certainly be remembered. With Renee on our team, though, there was no need to send a man. Now, to find her, I had to look in the other bedrooms. That would infuriate Renee; she would be sure I was spying on her. Once on the second floor, I checked on the three girls. To my surprise there was Renee in our bed, sleeping soundly. Whatever her reason, she hadn't wanted me to go looking for her. Perhaps she has a new lover. But, it could still be Bruce. She never learned about my seeing the two of them together in the hotel. I shook her. "Get up!" She groaned, and pulled the pillow over her head. I was forced to drag her from the bed, between Sheila and the redhead, who both lay on the carpet on that side. Neither was awake, although the redhead rolled over, away from us, toward the handcuff that connected her ankle to the bed leg. I supported Renee, until, yawning, she stood without my help. She was naked, and I wondered if she'd undressed in our room. Perhaps she had come like this from wherever she'd been. It was something she would do. Her figure looked as good as ever to me, and I was tempted to grab a firm cee cup tit in one hand, her tight butt in the other. I'm really horny tonight from thinking about these girls. I threw on pants and a shirt and I helped her get dressed. "You have to go to their motel," I told her. "I'll drive. I'll explain on the way." When we reached Royal Palm Road, I told her, "Watch for Clearview Drive. Number sixty-three. The motel faces Royal Palm Road, but it's set back, with shrubbery hiding it." It was closer than I expected. Even though I'd driven on RPR often enough, I never noticed the motel. It appeared to be a small, family owned, one story building. Only about forty units. It was well-illuminated by a light over each door and I hesitated about getting out myself. A man going into a girls' unit at two a.m. would raise eyebrows and questions. "Take this bag," I told her; "Stuff as much of each of the girls' clothing in it as you can get in it. Don't take underclothes or pants. Just skirts and blouses. Sweaters are too bulky: We'll get them some other time." "Oui mon pere." As she stepped out, I slapped her butt, which was bare under her cotton skirt. She turned, briefly, stuck out her tongue. "Queue!," she said, and headed for door number ten. Just then another car pulled in beside mine, and I slipped down on the seat out of sight. After its doors slammed and the footsteps of two people receded, I heard a man say, "Awful late for a young lady to be out, isn't it?" Merde! I hoped the other person was a woman. I didn't savor the complications of Renee dealing with a couple of men at two in the morning. She responded something I couldn't catch. I suppose she hadn't immediately been able to open the door and had to pose as number ten's occupant. I heard nothing more except a closing door. It might have been two doors at once. I cautiously looked out. I saw a man walking toward the still-illuminated office. I wondered why he was heading there at this time of night, but there really wasn't much I could do except wait for Renee. A minute or two later, he returned, carrying a container that probably held ice. A minute after that, another man exited the office. He knocked on the unit Renee had entered. He waited, then knocked again. He said something through the door. Finally, Renee opened it, took something, and closed the door. The man returned to the office, and I exhaled, wondering what that had been about. I waited nearly half an hour; then she returned, carrying my laundry bag. She hopped into the car beside me. I glanced about. No one. I pulled onto Clearview, then RPR, and headed back for the house. "Did you see the guy come to the door and knock?," she asked. "Yes. What did he want? I nearly left the car to get you out of there!" She laughed. "The girls left a note at the desk about having towels for only two. He was bringing them. I don't know how he knew I was in there but not asleep." "A guy that just drove up went to get ice. He probably mentioned the sexy girl he met entering Unit Ten." Renee smiled. "I brought three blouses and three skirts. Also, some socks and tampons. It was all I could fit into this bag." "Did you mess up the room?" "Certainement! I splashed up the sink and left some clothes I didn't feel like repacking on a chair. I found a bottle of sherry and drank some. There are two double beds. I bounced on them both. Et, j'ai branle!" "Bullshit!" I said, smiling. She'd probably already come a half-dozen times with whomever she'd been in bed with earlier. I pulled off of Southwest Eighteenth, onto our street. * * * The girls woke me up, all of them together. I must have been sleeping sounder than usual. I seemed to recall dreaming, but I no longer can recall my dreams, so I wouldn't put money on it. The redhead was the loudest. "Christ! Will you tell me why you've tied us up like this?" She sat up, leaning back on her hands. "None of your lackeys would tell us a thing. All that kid would tell us is that we had to wait for you. You're Mark, right?" "Yes. Spelled with a cee." I didn't like Bruce presenting them with my name, but the damage was done; there was no point in dwelling on it. "I repeat, why are we tied? And, when are you going to let us go? I mean, this sucks! We were too wanked out last night and spaced when you got in, but how about clueing us in on thiszoo?" I was a bit taken aback by her farrago of words, most of which I previously believed I knew the meaning of but which together became incomprehensible. Your language is the worst I've learned, with its senseless spelling and plethora of idioms. Still, I gathered the sense of what she was asking. "In about an hour I'll answer most of your questions. Until then, you'll have to wait." I included them all in my response. I undid Arlene's ankle and unbound her wrists. "Thank god!, she exclaimed, rubbing them. "That kid made the ropes way too tight. You must be a shitty boss. He kept telling me he couldn't do this or that. He wouldn't tell me anything unless he had your permission. You must have really put the screws on him to make these ropes so tight." "He's my brother," I said, not caring to respond to her tirade. "Oh yeah? Well, anyway, I'm grateful to you for cutting those ropes to our ankles. God, I was wondering if I could ever sleep like that!" I grasped her arm. "I want you to take a bath. Re-dress in these." I handed her the blouse and skirt that Renee had ironed, and the bobby socks, all of which she had left on my dresser sometime this morning while I slept. "No clean bra and panties?" "You won't be wearing any. Leave the ones you're wearing in my hamper." She looked at me. "Oh fuck. Now you're scaring me. For sure. But,. . . if you intended to rape us, you would have done it before now, right?" "I'll tell you my plans for you later. I'll tell you this morning. Now, go in and take a bath. Be sure to wash your cunt." She grimaced, and swallowed. "Shit. All we wanted to do was crash a party." The bathroom adjoined my bedroom. I led her to it. "Leave the door open," I told her. When she appeared, it was evident she was braless, since the blouse-of either nylon or polyester-revealed the knobs of her nipples, although with a strangely irregular lumpiness. I hadn't attempted to see her naked, confident that I had plenty of time for that, when I would have her body more conveniently positioned than it would be in a bathtub. She offered no resistance as I handcuffed her hands behind her back. I was a head taller than she and fifty kilos heavier. It would have been futile, and no doubt she realized it. I led her back to the bed, which I'd made up while she was bathing. "Would you prefer the bed or the carpet?," I asked. "You mean, as a place to wait? Or, does `bed' mean more than that?" I smiled. "Just a place to wait, while Avis and Sheila take baths. I won't do anything to you yet." She chose the bed, and I handcuffed an ankle to one of the metal verticals at the foot of the bed. She lay on the coverlet, eyes open and watching me. I followed the same procedure with Avis and Sheila. When all three were dressed and lying side by side on the bed, their ankles handcuffed to its foot, I went downstairs to check on production and, after that, to get some breakfast. Bruce and Jose were running the copiers. Sumner was at our examination desk looking through a microscope. I checked the copiers first. "Any problems?," I asked. My brother said, "We think the yellows are off on the francs, so we're sticking with the marks for now." "Good. They're worth more anyway." I went to Sumner, glancing at the bill under the objective. The yellows looked rather orange. "What's your verdict?," I asked. Sumner swirled around on the swivel stool and looked up. "We got a bad batch of chrome, mon ami. Nothing to do but dump it and burn the bills. Fortunately, Jose and Bruce caught the color problem early." "Merde! That slows us down. Can't we adjust the pigments in the ink?" He shrugged. "My bet is we'd be at it all day. Wasting more time. You know we can't be sure of color until they're dry. And we still might not get it right." "Are the bills that bad? Can we segregate them and get rid of them at a discount?" "I don't like that idea. As soon as the baddies get noticed, it will alert Banque de France. Then, once on the lookout, they'll begin to find our good ones." "O.K., Sum. You're always right. Burn them. Dump the ink and start cleaning the tanks." "We could use another hand to keep to our new schedule. No overtime, Marc. All of us are all looking forward to tonight's entertainment. None of us wants to miss that." I ascended the stairs, intending to prepare breakfast after I spoke with Manuel. Renee, however, was awaiting me in the kitchen. "I made you an omelette," she said. I kissed her, and sat down. She had toast and coffee all ready, and I ate a leisurely meal. "Aren't you planning to feed them?," she asked. "When they beg for it." "You want to make them submissive in less than two weeks? You're foolish, Marc. They'll say the words, but won't mean any of them." "Perhaps not, but I'll enjoy hearing them. And, who knows? Accustoming the girls to begging may succeed in turning them into slaves. Not perfect ones, but what does it matter? They'll still be relatively novel to us, with the stimulation that that provides." "Oh, you men and your theories! Do you want me to prepare breakfast for them?" "I'll do it. When they ask properly." "Sumner says you're planning on an orgy with them." "Yes. I'm still working on it, though." After a leisurely second cup of coffee, I went outside to find Manuel. He was not at the front gate and not in sight from the lawn. I began to walk along the narrow path between the outer fence and the shrubbery, which shielded the house from the view of anyone in the street. After a detour around a fallen limb which had pushed the fence inward, I found him on his knees digging in the earth with a trowel around a bent metal post. He saw me and stood up. "I think, Senor Marc, that I have discovered where the three girls came in." "It looks like it, Manuel." Although not apparent from the house, the pushed-in fence was plainly visible from the street and, in fact Jose had found the girls' rented car between this opening and the main gate. "I have to ask you to postpone this work for a while. Possibly permanently." "Of course, Senor. May I ask why?" "The painting that we're doing in the basement has encountered difficulties. A can of paint is off-color. We have to meet a tighter schedule because of, um, our three new pieces of equipment. I want them moved into the family room tonight for the use of all of us. Without your help there, Jose and Bruce will have to work overtime tonight, interfering with tonight's festivities. I'm asking you to help your son and my brother in the library. Of course, Sumner will stay and help, all day if necessary." "Ah. I understand. Yes Senor, I shall go at once." We returned together to the mansion. Manuel went downstairs, while I ascended to my room. All three girls began at once: "When are you going to release us?," from Sheila, looking at me as she sat up on the bed and straightened her skirt, which had moved up her legs. "You're just awful, with what you're doing to us!" Avis chimed in with, "We're hungry and thirsty. Aren't you going to give us anything to eat and drink?" Mimicking Sheila, she sat up, bracing herself with her hands. And, from Arlene, "You promised to tell us what your plans are, Marc. Tell us now! And Avis is right; we're thirsty, and hungry!" They weren't yelling yet, but I suspected that would come soon. I retrieved a bag from my dresser and withdrew a set of handcuffs and a length of chain. Arlene was the leader of the trio, and I wanted to incapacitate her first. It would be easier to handle Sheila and Avis with her not present to act as their spokesperson. I had another reason for the handcuffs and chain as well. I wanted to start working on her, to prepare her for this evening. I manacled her hands behind her and attached the chain with its snaphooks to the link between the handcuffs. I produced a collar from the bag. The other two girls looked on in shocked disbelief then as I drew it about Arlene's neck, and tightened and fastened its straps. I pulled the dangling chain and Arlene's wrists upward hard, until the chain was taut, her hands between her shoulder blades. I fastened its snaphook to a collar ring. Uncomfortable for her, but that was intentional. By then, certain that she was incapable of providing any resistance with her hands, I undid the handcuff that held her ankle to the metal foot of the bed. I helped her climb over Avis and down to the carpet, supporting her so she wouldn't fall. I walked her to the dresser, found a dog chain, and fixed it to her collar. "Christ," she said. "Are you ever a bondage freak! Where are you taking me?" I was a bit disappointed and even more baffled that she didn't seem shocked. Her two friends certainly seemed to be. "You'll see," I told her, and I jerked the chain. She glared at me for a moment, but then followed me into the hall, and I closed the door behind us. I led her downstairs, into the kitchen. Renee was nowhere to be seen, but she had washed the dishes which were stacked in the rack beside the sink. I filled a glass with water and held it to Arlene's lips. I let her drink her fill. "You don't seem like too bad a guy," she said, as I put the glass in the sink. "I suppose you intend to fuck us. If I promise to cooperate will you promise not to do anything really bad?" What a proposal! These American women! I even doubted that many Parisiennes would have made such an offer. I didn't reply, which might reassure her, confirming her hope that she could bargain. I wanted her and the others to realize they had no options. They were going to be our toys. Perhaps, as Renee thought, it would be more difficult than I hoped to turn these three young women into slaves in the time we had. However, Arlene may be exceptional. The other two girls may be much easier. I'll put my efforts into breaking her first. The blonde and Avis had thrown far fewer petards than Arlene. In my experience, women are far more variable in their attitude toward sex than men. They range from the nun-like who freeze up upon hearing `con' to slutty whores to whom such words mean no more than `that sucks' does to an American. "Are you going to do this to my friends too?" "From now on, you won't speak until I give you permission to!" I told her. As I feared, making her submissive was going to require more time than I liked. Much of the day might be required, and I thought it best to waste as little time as possible. She quieted. I suppose she wondered what I would do if she ignored my warning. I led her down the basement stairs and we entered the family room. "Oh my god!," she exclaimed, looking at the H frames. Although I'd warned her not to speak, I let her remark go. I merely said "I'll remember you spoke without permission." I might whip her later. Postponing it would be preferable without this infraction as an excuse, since I wanted the other girls to be present to watch. On the other hand, a whipping now would make her break tonight more quickly, assuming I worked thoroughly enough to give her a sore ass. That might be the better decision since whipping her again later would be more effective. My intention was to save the H frames for tonight's party. For now, I wanted to make her about as uncomfortable as possible yet, at the same time, horny. "You promised to tell me what you intend to do with us," she said, again ignoring my admonition for silence. "I'll tell you in a little while. Meanwhile, that's your second recusancy." "My what?! Jesus, for a foreigner you sure use fifty dollar words. You must be French or something." "Something," I responded. I was surprised, and definitely annoyed, that she detected my accent and even guessed I was French. Most Americans took me for one of them. I thought I had eliminated my accent. Either Arlene was unusually perceptive, or my diction recently had gotten ragged. I fastened a chain to one of the ceiling rings Sumner had mounted. I used a snap link to connect the chain to the link holding her handcuffs together, nesting it beside the one already there that held the chain to her collar. The chain to the ceiling kept her relatively in place. She soon discovered that much movement in any direction pulled her wrists even higher, which was too painful, so she stood where she was. "When are you going to tell me what your plans are for us?," she asked. "You've put me off with, `soon' several times. And, what about food? I'm hungry! So are Sheila and Avis." "All right," I said. "I'll tell you, without going into detail. I can't speak for those who work for me." I reached for her blouse buttons. "We are going to fuck you. You guessed that." She began to tremble. Finally, she's scared. She looked down at my hand, difficult because of the width and tightness of her collar. I undid the buttons. "I-I was hoping I was wrong about that. It doesn't make me feel better to hear you say it. You said `we'. Who do you mean? You and who else?" "Whoever wants to. All the men in this house. My sixteen year old brother. Possibly my partner, Renee. She does girls and women as well as men." "You prick! If you think I'm going to cooperate, you're out of your mind!" "You'll cooperate," I said, mildly. I pulled the lapels apart, exposing her breasts. She began trembling more obviously. Nipple rings! and a belly button ring. I began laughing. "What's the purpose of these?" I flicked a nipple ring with a fingernail. She reddened. "Fuck you. My boyfriend wanted them." "Didn't you?" She didn't answer. She made an attempt to turn her head so she didn't have to look at me, but the collar prevented it. "Nice tits," I said. I cupped them in my hands, played with the rings, twisting and pulling them lightly. Her nipples hardened. "Do you have chains to fit these? You must, so your boyfriend can pull them, keep you on your knees when you suck his cock." She flushed. I had the impression she was about to spit, but when I stared into her eyes, she must have changed her mind, and she just swallowed. I continued to fondle her breasts. Bee cup, they fit nicely in my hands. Smooth, with raised areolas, little hills on top of larger ones. I raised one, took it in my mouth, ring and all, and flicked the ring with my tongue. I repeated my action with the other. I had a full erection by then, held painfully down by the tightness of my jeans. I grasped the fastener tab of her skirt, unzipped it. I undid the button above it, and pulled her skirt down. Although she could have impeded me by spreading her legs, she didn't attempt it. "Raise your foot." She hesitated, but then did as I wanted. She probably realized it would accomplish nothing by refusing. I drew it from her leg and repeated the action with the other. I tossed the garment onto a chair and stepped back to look at her. "Nice body," I said. Her muff was a little darker than the bobbed hair over her forehead. She'd trimmed it into a sharp triangle. Her figure, although not voluptuous, was seductive, well-contoured. Perfect breasts and hips for her slender frame. Madonna-like. "Spread your legs." She ignored my order. I smiled. She's given me sufficient excuse, and she knows it. Now I'll teach her the consequences of disobedience. Arlene seemed determined to pay no attention to me. She didn't turn around when I went past her to select a whip from several on the lamp table. I chose a leather-handled strap. The lightest of the three. Thinking of tonight, I preferred not to have her ass marked. Even though the leather wasn't as heavy as it was for the others, it would certainly sting. I came up behind her and cupped my hand over an ass cheek; I lightly stroked it. She quivered slightly, but still showed no inclination to look at me, and she stood where she was. I stepped back, aimed, and brought it hard across both cheeks. The impact produced a satisfyingly loud `crack' that made both buttocks jiggle and drew from her an "Ow!," that was probably more of surprise than pain. She hadn't anticipated the blow, so her buttocks were relaxed and had distributed much of the impact because of it. Following the first however, she expected the strap and tensed her buttocks, not realizing that the blows would be more painful. I methodically whipped her buttocks, moving up for six strokes, and then down. I was intent on covering every square millimeter of her ass. Except for her initial cry, she gritted her teeth and was silent for the next eighteen strokes. With the next blow I brought the strap across an area previously struck twice already. Then, and with each subsequent blow, she emitted an "Unh!" and between the blows, she began to whimper, fearing the next. Finally, she shouted, "O.K, O.K.! Stop! I'll do what you want!". I continued with several more strokes, intent on reaching thirty. Although her rump was pink, it wasn't bruised. It felt quite warm under my palm and, from her jerk when I touched it, it must have been tender. When I went in front of her, she spread her legs. I knelt then and, supporting my palms on her trimmed muff, I thumbed apart her labia just below it. I raised my eyebrows in surprise. Another ring. Not in the hood. Laterally, through her clitoris! I was impressed. Her tolerance for pain, or her determination, was evidently exceptional. Even if she'd applied a topical anaesthetic, a needle inserted there must have been agony. If she could take that, I couldn't imagine why the strap had made her succumb. It made no sense. I brought a spreader bar, laid it on the carpet between her legs, and fastened her ankles into its cuffs. Then I knelt. I pulled her outer, furry labia apart, gripping them with the thumbs and forefingers of both my hands. Suddenly, my thumbs were slippery. She was wet, dripping wet. Her pink, hairless labia were engorged, and her clit so hard that the ring projected horizontally from under its hood. These novelties wouldn't impede my plan; her rings would actually make it easier to carry out. Curious about her arousal, I wondered how much stimulation would give her an orgasm. I confess that my motives were not academic. I can seldom resist when a pretty woman makes a display of her aroused clit to me. I knelt, and I took the ring in my mouth. I began flicking it with my tongue. Arlene emitted a moan and, as I continued, varying my tongue stimulations with sucks that enclosed clit, ring and all, she began to thrust her hips against my face. After less than a minute, she began to cry, "Oh. Oh fuck. Oh fuck! Oh Jesus fuck me fuck fuck Aaaah!" Her clit spasmed against my tongue. I continued to suck it gently as it throbbed. I expected it to soften, as often happens after I've sucked a girl off. Hers remained hard. When she began to thrust again, I withdrew my mouth, and I stood up. Her closed eyes opened. Seeing my eyes on her, her face pinked. "Even if you are a shit, you suck cunt pretty good," she said. What an incomprehensible woman. I retrieved the bags and set them upright in front of her. Batteries and vibrators weren't in the same bags, so I dumped everything on the carpet. I could see she was curious; she strained to bend her head forward, but the collar I'd chosen for her was three inches high, and I doubt that she was able to see much. Lubricated as she was, it was easy to insert the first smoothie in her vagina. I set it at its lowest power, hoping it wouldn't induce orgasms, but would keep her wanting one. There was an additional benefit using the low power setting, the batteries should last out the day. I set the butterly vibe on low; then I strapped it on her, positioned to press against her clit ring. The butterfly's harness served the secondary purpose of holding in the smoothie. With her hands bound, it was in to stay no matter how she struggled. I had to use a rope for the smoothie in her ass. I set its power higher than the one in her vagina, wanting to be sure she felt its vibes. I lubricated it well with Vaseline before spreading her cheeks and slipping it into her anus. Tying a length of rope to the waist strap of the butterfly harness, I pulled it between her legs and up between her buttocks so it pressed the back of the smoothie and held it in. I spread her cheeks after I thought I was done. The rope looked as though it might slip aside, so I looped two more lengths beside and parallel to the first. When I'd finished, I was sure it would stay in for as long as I wanted. I gathered up the remaining objects and re-bagged them. I put toys and batteries in one bag, restraints in the other, wanting them to be more retrievable than the clerk in the store had made them. He had simply filled them according to what fit. Arlene watched as well as she could and this time, when I took the bag of toys back to the lamp table, she turned, to follow me with her eyes. I returned, picked up the remaining bag, and headed for thedoor. "Are you leaving me like this!?," she exclaimed, loudly and, I thought, with a hint of desperation in her voice. I turned. "Yes. Why?" "I . . . uh. . . uh. . . I'm hungry." "That isn't how I expect to be addressed by a slave." "Why, you . . ." I assumed she was going to follow with an obscenity, but she seemed to change her mind. At least she was beginning to act submissive to get what she wanted. "Would you please bring me something to eat?" "You can begin calling me Master now. Otherwise, you cunt, I'll ignore whatever you say." Her eyes flashed. From her countenance I could see she was struggling with her temper. Finally, she emitted a, "I-I'm sorry, Master. Please bring me something to eat.". "I'll see that you get something." I turned toward the stairs. "Master?" "Yes?" I glanced back. "Uh, these vibrators, they . . . uh, they aren't very powerful . . ." "No, they aren't." I went up the stairs. END OF CHAPTER ONE {A note to you who actually bothered to read this far: If you consider this tale worth continuing, please inform the author of typos & in particular of errors in my Latin, German, Spanish, and French. (The German [if & when] at a later time.) {Another note: Although I don't want to patronize readers with explanations of foreign words, I've peppered so many f.w.'s in this, that perhaps for those who give a damn, a small glossary might be appreciated: Costa del Sol, Sun Coast, the Spanish Riviera. Quelle dommage!, Too bad! Marais area of Paris, Swamp; Reclaimed and now the eastern, foreign workers' part of the city. Mon coeur--pas trop vite!, Oh my heart--slow down! Merde, Shit. Trumpet of Toulouse, a BJ. de gustibus non est disputandum, There's no accounting for taste. Menage a trois. A bedroom 3 person circus, 2M1F or 2F1M. muy sabroso, very tasty, or delicious; (I might have used sabrosisimo). Oui mon pere, Yes, Father dear. Certainement!, Certainly! J'ai branle!, I jerked off!. flics, cops. mon ami, my friend. Marche de Puce, flea market, very different from American ones; it would require a page to describe. An indoor/outdoor affair. The incident described was actually observed by an American, the sequel invented to fit this story. con, cunt. Queue!, Prick!. mujer, woman (mistress, girlfriend, wife)} Thanks to JW's torrid tales, which inspired me to write this. ----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------ Notice: This post has been modified from its original format. The post was sent as a uuencoded attachment and has been converted by ASSTR ASSM moderation software. ------- ASSM Moderation System Notice-------- This post has been reformatted by the ASSM Moderation Team due to inadequate formatting. -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: | | FAQ: Moderator: | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Archive: Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository | |, an entity supported entirely by donations. | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+